


Living in Lightning

by ivoryline



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Body Swap, Canon Compliant, Domesticity, First Kiss, Fluff, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Missing Scene, No Betas We Fall Like Crowley, Post-Apocalypse, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-09-30 14:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20448464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivoryline/pseuds/ivoryline
Summary: The quintessential Good Omens fic for the night after the not-apocalypse.For a wild moment, he considered grabbing Aziraphale's hand and lacing their fingers together. That thought caused his heart to beat at an alarming rate, so he immediately abandoned it. However, it had been a very long, very trying day and they rarely sat so closely together. Crowley inched his hand towards Aziraphale's, already preparing a host of excuses to explain his behavior, and rested his pinky just over Aziraphale's.





	1. The Night Before the Rest of their Lives

The bus ride to Crowley's flat passed in silence. Well, nearly. When Aziraphale had taken the seat beside him rather than the customary seat in front of him, Crowley had looked at him and uttered what perhaps were the beginnings of words before shutting his mouth and turning to stare out the window. He watched raindrops race down the glass and tried not to be overcome with weariness. He had overdone it today. The effort of will it took to keep the Bentley in one piece, coupled with stopping time before facing down Satan himself had taken more out of him than he previously thought. All the adrenaline had raced out of his system and left his body feeling weak and frightfully human. As the bus rattled on towards a destination it hadn't previously intended to rattle towards, Crowley spared a sideways glance towards Aziraphale. The angel stared straight ahead, and Crowley could make out the familiar creases in his brow that told him Aziraphale was deep in thought. Aziraphale's hands were splayed on the bus bench instead of clasped in his lap as was usual. It suddenly occurred to him how close together they were. Close enough to have knocked knees a couple times during the ride. Close enough that Crowley would barely have to extend his arm to touch the angel. For a wild moment, he considered grabbing Aziraphale's hand and lacing their fingers together. That thought caused his heart to beat at an alarming rate, so he immediately abandoned it. However, it had been a very long, very trying day and they rarely sat so closely together. Crowley inched his hand towards Aziraphale's, already preparing a host of excuses to explain his behavior, and rested his pinky just over Aziraphale's. The angel didn't give any sign that he noticed the touch, but Crowley could have sworn he saw him glance at Crowley out of the corner of his eye.

  
Just when he thought that minuscule point of contact would leave him permanently burned, the bus came to a stop outside Crowley's flat. Aziraphale got to his feet and straightened his clothes before looking down at Crowley.

  
"I think I should like a drink," Aziraphale said simply. The bottle of wine they had already finished had rolled away from their feet sometime during their journey, but that hadn't really been enough to get the taste of the day's events out of Crowley's mouth.

  
"I could do with a drink as well," he said, getting to his feet and gesturing for Aziraphale to precede him off the bus. The angel waited patiently while Crowley fumbled with his keys before leading his way up the stairs. He tried to think of the last time Aziraphale had been to his flat. His tiredness made his thoughts move like honey through a sieve and as a result, he was drawing a blank. He unlocked his front door, snapping his fingers to turn on the lights. He shook out of his coat and dropped it on the ground before heading to the kitchen to retrieve the alcohol and glasses. He heard Aziraphale huff in that persnickety way of his, no doubt hanging up Crowley's jacket for him, and felt the beginnings of a smile. He met Aziraphale in the entryway, two glasses in one hand and a bottle of scotch in the other. He led the way into the lounge, at least that was his intention. He had only made it a couple of steps before Aziraphale had grabbed him by the back of his coat and yanked. The suddenness of the action caused Crowley to drop the glasses.

  
"Aziraphale! What the Heaven is wrong with you?" he demanded. He snapped his fingers and the glasses returned to his hand in one piece. He turned to glare at the angel and saw he was staring at the ground with a...disturbed expression? Crowley tried to think of what could be in his flat that would disturb Aziraphale. The statue perhaps? But no, he wouldn't be able to see that from here. Before he could go through a comprehensive list of his belongings in his mind, Aziraphale spoke.

  
"Holy water?" he asked. Ah, Crowley had nearly forgotten about that. In his defense, quite a lot had happened since then. He looked down to see the mess that was Ligur was inches away from his left foot.

  
"Yes, it came in handy. I told you it would." He drew back as Aziraphale snapped his fingers. The mess itself was gone but had left behind a dark stain on his floor and the smell still lingered, like food that had been left out in the heat and gone bad.

  
"That's what you meant? By insurance?" Aziraphale asked, staring at Crowley with a less easily defined expression. Crowley wished he could define it because the question confused him.

  
"What else would I have meant?" he asked in return. Aziraphale didn't answer and Crowley stared at him as he walked past him into the lounge. He wasn't in the mood for riddles. He was in the mood for a stiff drink and a long, uninterrupted nap. Feeling grouchy, he followed Aziraphale into the lounge and flung himself down on one end of the couch. Aziraphale sat primly on the other end. Crowley poured them both a healthy amount of scotch and pushed a glass towards Aziraphale.

  
"I don't believe I've been here since you moved in," Aziraphale commented. His eyes wandered around the room as he sipped his drink. Crowley grunted an acknowledgment but was more focused on his own drink. That was the only thing said while they worked through their first two glasses. As Crowley sipped on his third, he attempted to make himself relax. He tipped his head back and tried to stop his mind from going over everything that had transpired that day. Or that week, or the last eleven years for that matter. He sat forward and snapped his fingers to turn his television on. The quiet in the room had become overbearing. He leaned back again, content to let whatever mindless sitcom play for background noise. That lasted only a moment before he remembered the last time his television was on Hastur and Ligur had spoken to him through it. He lunged forward, the television disappearing with another snap of his fingers. He threw back the rest of his drink and it was then that he noticed Aziraphale was staring at him. He concentrated on pouring himself another glass.

  
"My dear boy, are you alright?" Aziraphale asked softly, concern coloring his tone. Crowley had intended on ignoring him but it seems he couldn't resist throwing the angel a dirty look.

  
"Oh, yeah. I'm great. Just perfect." he sniped, throwing back his glass in one swallow. He winced, this scotch wasn't meant to be drank that way. Crowley rubbed his face with his hands and made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. He smelled like soot and motor oil. He didn't want to imagine what he looked like at the moment, but he knew it wouldn't be pretty. He pulled his hands away from his face and was momentarily startled to see that they were clean. Looking over at the angel, who was still sitting somewhat stiffly but had half turned his body to face Crowley, he relaxed just a smidge. His best friend was still here, and still willing to do nice things for him.

  
"Crowley," Aziraphale began with a pinched expression, "what do you think is going to happen? With our Head Offices, I mean." And just like that, the tension was back.

  
"I don't know, angel," he answered truthfully, "I expect it'll be holy water for me. You'll probably Fall." He had tried to say that last bit in an offhand way, as if the thought of Aziraphale Falling hadn't kept him awake for weeks at a time. As if the thought of seeing Aziraphale without his blinding Goodness and Grace, seeing him with black wings instead of white, hadn't haunted him for a millennium.

  
"I rather think both sides want to be shot of me. I'm afraid to say it, but I think they'll destroy me too." Aziraphale said, glancing away from Crowley. Crowley stared at him. He _was_ afraid. He could see it in the way Aziraphale fussed with his cuffs and the trembling downturn of his mouth. In an instant Crowley was on his feet and pacing, every ounce of weariness had fled his body.

  
"I won't allow that. You'll think of something. You're clever." he said roughly. Aziraphale's eyes tracked Crowley's movements as he polished off his own glass.

  
"I'm not more clever than _Heaven_, Crowley." Aziraphale admonished. Crowley briefly paused his pacing to give him a disbelieving look. "Put your eyebrows down, it's true."

  
"As if you haven't been fooling heaven for centuries, Aziraphale. Or have you forgotten our Arrangement?" Crowley responded. His eyebrows didn't move an inch. Aziraphale blushed and waved off his words.

  
"This is a bit more serious than memos." Aziraphale reminded him. Crowley tipped his head in agreement. He supposed their destruction was more serious than stretching the truth on rarely read progress reports.

  
"All the same, angel, we didn't save the world just to be wiped off it." Crowley went back to pacing, keeping Aziraphale at the edge of his vision. He saw Aziraphale fidget, start to say something, then close his mouth and pour another glass for himself. He took a delicate sip.

  
"Well, strictly speaking-" Aziraphale began but Crowley cut him off with a growl. This conversation was not productive in the least.

  
"I know! I _know_, but the point still stands." Crowley paused his pacing to pour another glass. The crease was back in Aziraphale's brow, which Crowley thought was a good sign. Crowley was able to fit in a couple more back and forth circuits before Aziraphale spoke again.

  
"We-we could go to Alpha Centauri." he stammered out, eyes decidedly fixed on the amber liquid in his glass. Crowley came to a screeching halt and whipped around to look at Aziraphale. The contents of his own glass would've sloshed over the sides if it hadn't known better than to do that. The silence between them stretched out while Crowley's thoughts scattered and realigned. Now? he thought. _Now_ he wants to run off? All of this was starting to feel a bit unfair to Crowley.

  
"You're joking," he spit out, and Aziraphale just swirled his drink, "No. We're not running out on all this now. Not after...not after everything." He faltered at the end. He knew the roughness of his voice wasn't enough to conceal that. Aziraphale set his glass down with a little more force than necessary.

  
"Crowley, what can we do? You can't honestly expect me to be able to just 'come up with something' I can't just pull things out of the air." The angel had been glaring out Crowley, but in the blink of an eye, his expression changed. He was now wearing a look of surprise that would've had made Crowley laugh if his nerves weren't completely shot. As it was, the demon went rigid.

  
"Aziraphale what is it, what's wrong-" Crowley cut off by Aziraphale, who held one hand out in front of him to stop Crowley from speaking and the other was reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small, dingy scrap of paper. The angel broke out into a grin.

  
"Agnes Nutter's last prophecy! It fell out when you threw the book to Anathema and I grabbed it. Crowley, do you know what this means?" He was looking expectantly up at the demon and holding the piece of paper in his hands almost reverently.

  
"Er, that is to say...no." He crossed his arms in front of his chest, feeling wrong-footed. The angel's enthusiasm wasn't diminished.

  
"She can help us! This prophecy was meant for us, I just know it." Aziraphale was beaming and, not for the first time, Crowley felt a twinge of envy for his ability to have unwavering faith in something. He couldn't see how some old, dead witch could possibly help them but he drew closer anyway. He leaned over to read the words, arms still crossed.

  
"When alle is fayed and all is done, ye must choofe your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre." Crowley read aloud, "What the hell-heaven does that mean?" Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, grin still firmly in place. Their faces were only inches apart and Crowley momentarily forgot how to breathe. Stupid thing, really, he thought, been doing it since the literal dawn of time. He straightened up before his mind could start asking why his body was behaving this way. That had always been his problem. Asking too many questions. He gripped his glass just a little bit tighter.

  
"I haven't a clue. Be quiet for a moment, dear, and let me think." Aziraphale stared intensely down at the paper as if he could intimidate it into being more straightforward. Crowley huffed but obeyed his request. He flopped back down on the couch and resumed drinking. After all, he didn't need to be sober if Aziraphale was going to be the one doing the thinking.

  
Crowley wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it felt like a lot to him. He stared at Aziraphale, who hadn't moved an inch, and wondered if it would be possible to use a demonic intervention to speed things along. Patience had never been his strong suit. It is a virtue, after all, and demons don't do virtue.

  
"Angel, we don't have forever. You're going to have to get a 'wiggle on'." Crowley attempted to imitate Aziraphale with the last two words and thought he actually did a pretty good job at it. Aziraphale's head snapped up to look at Crowley.

  
"What did you just say?" Aziraphale demanded, looking intense.

  
"I said you're going to have to get a wiggle on. It's that asinine turn of phrase you used when you found me in the bar." Crowley said, speaking slowly. Aziraphale had actually said that, right? He had been pretty drunk at the time.

  
"Wait a minute. Choose your faces wisely." Aziraphale was staring at him and Crowley could practically see the light bulb go off above his head. Unfortunately, Crowley had no idea what it was that Aziraphale had figured out. He waited for the angel to explain, but the angel just continued to stare at him.

  
"Yeah, got that. Unclear what to do with the information." Crowley prompted. Aziraphale heaved an impatient sigh.

  
"We're going to switch faces, Crowley," Aziraphale said with a smile.

  
"We're going to _what_?" The day's events must have been too much for him. Poor Aziraphale must have snapped from the pressure. Crowley reached out and scooted Aziraphale's glass away from him.

  
"In the bar, I said something about how it was too bad I couldn't just inhabit your body. Well, why couldn't I? Angels aren't supposed to be able to possess anyone, but I possessed Madame Tracy. Why couldn't we just, I don't know, swap bodies?" Aziraphale said with an excited wiggle.

  
"Aziraphale, you are an _angel_ and I am a _demon_." Crowley reminded him because he seemed to have forgotten that crucial detail. Aziraphale rolled his eyes at him.

  
"Yes, I know that. We would just be borrowing each other's visage, not our essences." Aziraphale sat back, looking pleased with himself. Crowley mulled it over. He supposed it could work. Crowley had found that with enough determination, just about anything was possible.

  
"Alright, then. How's this work?" He was sitting forward now, elbows on his knees.

  
"Haven't a clue!" Aziraphale said cheerily. It was Crowley's turn to roll his eyes. Aziraphale rubbed his hands together eagerly. "There's something I'd like to try." Before Crowley could react, Aziraphale reached across the couch and grabbed his hand.

  
"Aziraphale, what-" Crowley choked out. The angel's hand was just as soft and warm as Crowley had anticipated, and Crowley felt like he was about to jump out of his skin.

  
"Hush. Concentrate and see if you can will yourself to look like me." Aziraphale interrupted and promptly closed his eyes. Crowley hesitated for a moment before copying him. He tried to imagine himself looking like Aziraphale. He imagined himself with white-blonde hair, curled and impossibly soft looking. He imagined himself wearing that stuffy old coat and all the outdated clothes underneath. He imagined himself with the ever-present gold ring and the tired old brogues. With the image complete in his mind, he felt such a surge of fondness it nearly knocked the breath out of him. He heard the angel gasp and felt his hand twitch inside his own and for one frightful moment he thought he'd been found out.

  
"Crowley, look! It worked!" Aziraphale sounded elated, but nothing like himself. Crowley cracked open one eye and was startled to see he was staring at himself.

  
"Holy shit," he said in Aziraphale's voice. He watched as his own face took on a pinched look that was more familiar on Aziraphale's.

  
"Language, dear. Oh, this is _fantastic_." Aziraphale grinned and it almost made Crowley uncomfortable to see the expression on his own face.

  
"I told you you were clever, angel. This is perfect, they'll never know." Crowley started to grin, too. Mischief was right up Crowley's alley.

  
"Thank you," Aziraphale said with a self-satisfied wiggle, "Now, we just have to make sure we can play the part. You first, show me your best Aziraphale impression." Unless Crowley was mistaken, the angel looked rather like he was the only one in on a good joke. He felt a bit like this was a trap, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly how. Crowley stood up and took a moment to get accustomed to this corporation's center of gravity before walking once around the room with his hands clasped in front of him. He stood in front of Aziraphale, looking down on him.

  
"It's_ ineffable_, Crowley." he mimicked. Even to his own ears, the cadence was spot on. He was feeling pretty good about himself until he realized Aziraphale looked quite surprised. "What? Did I not do it right?" Crowley tried to slouch like he usually did, but it seemed Aziraphale's corporation didn't want to do that. So, instead, he held himself properly upright and felt distinctly wrong.

  
"No, no. That was eerily good." Aziraphale was looking at Crowley just a little too closely.

  
"I've known you for 6,000 years. Be a bit weird if I hadn't noticed a thing or two." Crowley said defensively.

  
"I suppose you're right. I guess it's my turn." Aziraphale sighed and got to his feet. Crowley was impressed to see that he was able to replicate his walk, but his arms looked a bit awkward.

  
"That's good, but put your hands in your pockets maybe," Crowley suggested. Aziraphale attempted to put his hands in the coat pockets and was frustrated to find them sewed shut. "No, the pants pockets," Crowley smirked. Even if this didn't end up working, it was at least fun.

  
"How?" Aziraphale demanded.

  
"What do you mean 'how'? Just stick your hands in them."

  
"Crowley, these are barely pockets. How on earth am I supposed to put my hands in them?"

  
"Obviously your whole hand can't fit. Just put what you can in there."

  
"Why do you wear these ridiculous things? What's the point in making them at all when the most you can store in them is a handful of change at best?" Aziraphale looked so put out that Crowley had to laugh.

  
"It's fashion, angel, not function." He watched as Aziraphale resigned himself to only fitting his fingers inside the pockets and finally got down his look of nonchalance. Aziraphale turned on his heel and looked at Crowley.

  
"Tempt you to a spot of lunch, angel?" Aziraphale even threw in a little smirk. Crowley felt momentarily breathless.

  
"Yep. Spot on." He turned to pour himself another glass just for something to do. Aziraphale was at his side, then, doing the same. Crowley sipped his drink and felt Aziraphale staring at him. He was standing much closer than strictly necessary.

  
"Crowley, dear, you must be exhausted," he said softly. Crowley heaved out a sigh.

  
"I've been fantasizing about crawling into bed since I walked in the door," Crowley grumbled.

  
"You should try to get some sleep, then. Now that we've got all the kinks worked out." Aziraphale smiled.

  
"You should try to sleep some, too, angel. I know you don't usually go in for that, but it's been a hell of a day." Literally, he thought to himself. Aziraphale looked like he was about to refuse. "Look, what else do you have to do? You could sit here and stare at the wall for a few hours or you could get some rest."

  
"Oh, I suppose you're right." he relented.

  
"Of course I am. You can have the bed, I'll take the couch." Crowley moved to sprawl out on said couch but Aziraphale started flapping his hands in that fussy way.

  
"Oh, I really couldn't do that. This is your home, you should take the bed." Crowley turned to look at him and considered a few things.

  
"Well," he started slowly, "my bed is rather large. I suppose we could share it." Crowley swallowed hard and tried his best to look like he didn't care either way. He figured there was still a chance this would be their last night on earth so what was there to lose, really? Aziraphale twisted his hands and looked like he wanted to refuse. Crowley was already preparing to make his retreat.

  
"Alright then." he relented. Crowley hadn't thought he'd get this far, so he was momentarily unsure of what to do.

  
"Right. Bedroom's this way," he said, and stalked off. Well, as best as Aziraphale's corporation could stalk. He felt a tad nervous for Aziraphale to see his bedroom. It was just as devoid of personal things as the rest of his flat, so he wasn't quite sure why that was. All the same, he gestured to the side of the bed that Aziraphale could have and got under the sheets on his side. He sighed as his head hit the pillow. He would have to be careful to not sleep for the next decade. He watched as Aziraphale hesitantly sat down on the bed, then slowly laid back.

  
"You're supposed to be underneath the covers." Crowley pointed out.

  
"I know that," Aziraphale retorted. He took off his glasses and set them on the bedside table. Crowley took one look at those yellow snake eyes and snapped his fingers, plunging the room into total darkness. He felt Aziraphale shifting to get under the covers, and then shift some more as he tried to get comfortable. Finally, the angel was still. Crowley closed his eyes and could already feel sleep beckoning to him.

  
"Crowley, do you remember Rome?" Aziraphale whispered, bringing Crowley back to wakefulness.

  
"Funnily enough, I do remember Rome," Crowley said drily.

  
"I meant do you remember those oysters?" he asked.

  
"Yes." Crowley only vaguely remembered the oysters. He was able to recall the way Aziraphale had said 'let me tempt you' much more clearly.

  
"They were simply delicious. We should go for seafood once all of this is over." Crowley rolled his eyes.

  
"Angel, this is the part where you shut your eyes, be quiet, and _sleep_," he said.

  
"Oh, right." Aziraphale sounded apologetic. Crowley supposed he could find it in his heart to forgive him. This was a rare event for him, after all. Crowley turned over and faced the angel. He could hear the soft sound of him breathing. It occurred to him that Aziraphale was here with him, laying in his bed a mere handful of inches away. His eyes flew open and he felt his heart stutter. It suddenly seemed quite hot. Was it this hot before? Couldn't have been. It must be all the layers Aziraphale insists on wearing. Crowley latched onto these excuses as he flopped over onto his back. Sleep suddenly seemed impossible. Why did he have to ask Aziraphale to share the bed with him? Aziraphale sighed beside him. Crowley glanced over at him even though he knew he wouldn't be able to see him. "Crowley?"

  
"Yes?" Crowley was glad for the broken silence this time.

  
"I just wanted to say that I..." Aziraphale trailed off.

  
"Angel, don't. Everything will be fine." Crowley said softly.

  
"All the same, I just wanted to say that I didn't mean what I said. Of course we're friends. Silly of me to have wasted all that time trying to deny it." Aziraphale spoke so quietly that it could barely be called a whisper. Even as Crowley felt the heartbreaks of those denials all over again, there was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to extend his hand and cup his angel's cheek. He wanted to pull Aziraphale into the shelter of his arms and never let him go. His fingers and his heart ached with his silent refusal to do so.

  
"Aziraphale, I-" he cut himself off. He thought he might choke on the words he wanted to say. He wanted to say "Aziraphale, I'm desperately in love with you" or "Aziraphale, I can only bare the thought of eternity if you're there to experience it with me" or even "Aziraphale, I know we're supposed to be fundamentally enemies but I want to hold you so badly I might discorporate". He clears his throat and goes with, "Aziraphale, you're my best friend."

  
"I rather think you're my best friend, too," Crowley can't see it but he can hear the smile in his voice, "now let's try to get some sleep." Crowley laughed.

  
"Goodnight, angel."

  
"Goodnight, Crowley."


	2. We could dine at the Ritz, go on a picnic

They had dined at The Ritz and it had felt so good to laugh with Aziraphale. Crowley had nearly melted to the floor at the softness in the angel's voice when he had said "to the world" and made it sound like three very different words. They had spilled out onto the sidewalk with champagne fizzing in their veins and Aziraphale had asked to see the bookshop and Crowley certainly wasn't going to deny him.

  
Crowley was watching Aziraphale inspect his restored shop, leaning against a bookshelf and smirking. He had sucked his teeth when he saw Adam's additions then moved on to making sure every Wilde was accounted for. Crowley watched the angel fuss and mutter under his breath and it should've been putting Crowley at ease but the longer he stood there the closer his shoulders moved towards his ears until he was entirely rigid. 

  
Crowley took a look around at the errant stacks of papers and manuscripts and the layers of dust and the rugs covering up old wood and the candles Christ the candles and all he could smell was smoke. All he could feel was the oppressive heat and the tang of embers and all he could see was red and blackened edges. The absolute absence of any angelic presence that hadn't haunted him since his Fall and Aziraphale was _gone_. Aziraphale was gone because he would never, never let anything happen to this shop.

  
Crowley took a wild look around trying to ground himself in reality but Aziraphale wasn't in his line of sight anymore. His heart gave a disturbing sort of lurch and he scrambled away from the bookshelf.

  
"Aziraphale?" Crowley called, his voice sounding manic even to his own ears. He knocked into a stack of books and sent them toppling to the floor. He sucked in a breath to call out again but Aziraphale appeared from behind another shelf.

  
"Crowley? What's the matter?" Aziraphale had a book in his hands and looked a bit startled. Crowley released his breath in a gust.

  
"You were gone." He hadn't meant to say that but it had just come out, sounding small and unsure. Aziraphale frowned.

  
"I was just-" he began with a gesture over his shoulder but Crowley cut him off.

  
"No, Aziraphale. You were _gone_." His voice broke on the last word and he promptly shut his mouth before any more embarrassing shit could come out of it. There was a pause and then Aziraphale placed the book on a shelf. 

  
"Oh, my dear," he said softly, "I'm here now." He made his way to Crowley slowly as if the demon was a scared animal. In a way he was. 

  
"I thought...Hastur and Ligur had just...I didn't..." Crowley struggled for coherency. He whipped his glasses off in a frustrated gesture and scrubbed a hand down his face.

  
"You thought it was hellfire," Aziraphale said simply. Of course the angel had understood him. Crowley nodded and set his glasses down on yet another stack of books. He didn't need them here.

  
"I thought, y'know, all those stupid little misadventures I had to pull you out of over the years and the one time, _the one time_," Crowley took a step closer to Aziraphale so only a few feet remained between them, "and then you were gone. Really, truly gone and there wasn't anything I could do to fix it." Crowley wanted to close the distance between them and gather the angel in his arms so maybe he could convince that crack in his heart that everything really was fine. He wanted to feel Aziraphale's heartbeat underneath those ridiculous layers and breathe in that distinctive smell he has. Something like sunshine and wildflowers and fresh baked bread.

  
"Is that what you were talking about? In the bar?" Aziraphale asked, voice impossibly soft. Crowley was struck. He searched Aziraphale's broken expression for any sign he was joking. 

  
"Of course," he whispered, "of course it was you." His confession fell like stones between them and he waited to feel the ripples. He waited for Aziraphale to put that careful distance between them back up, to repeat the party line, to shoo him from the shop. Aziraphale appeared to come to some decision. He eliminated the space between them in two strides, grabbed Crowley by his lapels, and kissed him soundly. 

  
Crowley held completely still, some latent self defense behavior, as all of his cognitive functions came to a screeching halt. Something was amiss here. This felt a bit too much like having your cake and eating it too and he was pretty sure the saying was that you didn't get to have both. Aziraphale drew back a fraction.

  
"Oh," he breathed against Crowley's lips, "I'm sorry I-"

  
"Nope," Crowley interrupted and kissed Aziraphale like he had dreamed of doing for time out of mind. He wrapped his arms around his angel and was pleased to find he tasted like sunshine too. Crowley couldn't help it, he began to laugh. Aziraphale pulled back again.

  
"I do hope that's not a commentary on my skill." His attempt at sounding stern was quite ruined by the breathless quality of his voice.

  
"I love you, you ridiculous, infuriating, clever angel," Crowley told him with that fearlessness that comes from being thoroughly kissed. Aziraphale looked briefly stunned before breaking into that grin that could melt the arctic.

  
"And I love you, you old serpent."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> full disclosure I forgot about this fic but I swear I'm gonna finish it. thank you so much to everyone who's given me kudos!


	3. This Life was Mine to Choose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> are y'all ready for some fluff? because I'm ready for some fluff

**Five Years Later**

  
Crowley kicked open the door to the cottage with a muddy boot.

  
"Angel! I'm back," he called as he struggled with the large bag of potting soil in his arms. Aziraphale came around the corner with a mug in one hand and a dish cloth in the other.

  
"Crowley, have you lost your mind?" Aziraphale asked, eyeing the mud and soil being tracked through the sitting room.

  
"Don't think I ever had one," Crowley answered with a lazy grin to which Aziraphale responded with a scoff. "Miracle the dishes clean and come help me."

  
"This is your favorite mug," Aziraphale said sounding affronted, "I don't want to risk damaging it." It was Crowley's turn to scoff.

  
"I don't have a favorite mug, you're being ridiculous," he said, shifting the bag of potting soil to get a better grip on it. 

  
"Is that so?" Aziraphale asked with a cocked eyebrow. Crowley stared at Aziraphale as he dripped soil onto the carpet. Aziraphale stared at Crowley as he dripped dishwater onto the carpet.

  
"Please don't do anything to my mug," Crowley pleaded.

  
"I wouldn't dream of it, dear. It's your favorite," Aziraphale responded as he returned to the kitchen. Crowley traipsed past him and out the back door into the garden. He snapped his fingers and the mess he had made in the sitting room decided it would rather be elsewhere. 

  
They had been living in their cottage together for two years. Crowley had gotten the idea for them to retire to the countryside and had pursued it doggedly. He spent hours looking at houses and cottages online and met with realtors and toured properties until at last he found the perfect place. It was a small cottage in South Downs and a bit of a fixer upper but Crowley had gotten an odd tingly feeling upon entering it. He put an offer in immediately.

  
It wasn't until the realtor handed him the keys that he realized he hadn't consulted with the angel about this decision at all. Aziraphale might not like the cottage. He might not want to leave London or his shop. He might not want to live with Crowley at all. Crowley tucked the keys to the cottage in his pocket and planned a way to broach the subject.

  
Unbeknownst to Crowley at the time, Aziraphale had also gotten the idea for them to retire to the countryside. However, Aziraphale was doing things in the correct order and so had not purchased a new residence. In the reverse order from Crowley, he considered how to convince the demon to leave all the attractions of London for a quiet life on the coast. 

  
Their disastrous discussion of retirement took place over dinner a week after Crowley had gotten the keys to the cottage. They had enjoyed a lovely, if distracted, meal and Crowley had watched Aziraphale slowly finish off his dessert. Crowley rubbed the keys in his pocket to give him confidence before speaking.

  
"So," Crowley said, clearing his throat, "do you know what a cottage is?" Not a great start, admittedly. Aziraphale's fork paused halfway between his plate and his mouth.

  
"Do I know what a cottage is?" Aziraphale repeated slowly.

  
"Yeah, it's like a house but...but different," Crowley supplied helpfully. Aziraphale gave him an odd look.

  
"Yes, I know what a cottage is," he said. Crowley nodded like this was good news and decided to just shut his mouth until his brain could get its shit together. They sat in silence for a while until Aziraphale's fork paused again.

  
"How are you liking London?" he asked. This question confused Crowley so thoroughly that the demon couldn't even form a response. He had been living in London since the 1800s why would Aziraphale be asking him that _now_? They studied each other in silence. 

  
"I think we should retire," Aziraphale blurted out.

  
"I bought us a cottage," Crowley said at the same time.

  
"You what?" they both asked. 

  
So, despite their best efforts, they were on the same page. It had taken some time to settle into easy domesticity. There were some issues in terms of decor early on what with Crowley's minimalism and Aziraphale's, for lack of a better term, pack-rat tendencies. They had agreed that Aziraphale's books would stay in the study so naturally they were spread throughout the cottage. Crowley's plants filled every windowsill and didn't quite know what to do with the angel's gentle way of speaking.

  
Crowley thought it was peak comedy to lurk in darkened corners where the angel's less attuned eyes couldn't see him in order to jump out at him. This pastime has brought him dangerously close to being discorporated but Crowley finds the risk is worth it. In return, Aziraphale had a terrible habit of leaving cabinet doors open which, as it turned out, were the perfect height for Crowley to bang his head on while still bleary with sleep. 

  
When Crowley had caught Aziraphale lighting candles the demon had come totally unglued. They had a terrible argument that ended with Crowley shutting himself up in the bedroom while Aziraphale fumed in his study. It wasn't long before Aziraphale had knocked on the door softly with a cup of tea and an apology. Aziraphale had banished all the candles into the ether the next morning.

  
Aziraphale had once walked in on Crowley in the bath and gone unnaturally still. It had taken Crowley a moment to realize where he had misstepped but when he did he had all but leapt out of the tub, sloshing water all over the floor, with a hurried "shit, sorry I'm sorry". Aziraphale had cringed away from the growing puddle on the floor and Crowley had stuck to showers from then on. 

  
As they cultivated their new home and their new life they found it easier and easier to avoid riling the other up to a true argument until it rarely happened at all. The battle over the linens was ongoing, though, and appeared to be unwinnable for either side. Sometimes the sheets were as plain and impersonal as hotel sheets and other times some sort of garish quilt covered the bed. There were nights that the bedding cycled between the two several times before Aziraphale and Crowley would decide their hands could be put to better use than miraculous interior decorating.

  
Crowley had teased Aziraphale when he took up knitting but had sat with the angel and helped untangle the yarn all the same. When Crowley decided he might like to learn how to cook Aziraphale had dutifully taste tested everything and scrubbed the burnt failures in the sink. They had painted the sitting room three times because neither one was convinced they got the color just right. 

  
Crowley introduced Aziraphale to binge watching and the two would spend days curled up together on the couch. Aziraphale would read poetry to Crowley in their ever-growing garden while the sunshine warmed their skin. Crowley made sure Aziraphale's cocoa never went cold and Aziraphale slowly brushed out Crowley's hair every night before bed. They bickered, they laughed, they loved. 

  
Crowley set down the bag of potting soil and brushed the dirt off his hands. He surveyed the plot he had cleared out for the new additions before turning his gaze to the plants waiting in their plastic pots.

  
"Listen here, you lot," he said, bending down to their level, "my angel picked you out so I won't be accepting anything less than perfection. I don't know what he's told you but I can and will destroy you if I so much as _sense_ anything close to wilting." Crowley heard the back door open over the sound of the plants trembling.

  
"Really, my dear, we've barely had them a day," Aziraphale admonished. Crowley straightened back up and turned to face his counterpart.

  
"Gotta lay down the law straight away or else they'll think they can get away with anything. Don't go coddling them," Crowley instructed. Aziraphale gave a vague sort of agreement that Crowley knew was bullshit but couldn't find it in him to mind it. Crowley smiled fondly as he watched the angel put on his soft pink gardening gloves.

  
If he was being honest, Crowley would have to admit that Aziraphale was more of a hindrance than anything when it came to the garden. He would also have to admit that Aziraphale made it a whole lot more fun as well. 

  
When the sun began to set Aziraphale disappeared back into the cottage. He returned with leftover takeaway from the night before, a bottle of wine, and two glasses. Aziraphale and Crowley sat side by side on the aging wooden bench at the center of their garden and passed the takeaway back and forth.

  
They sat in a companionable silence as the stars winked to life above them. Crowley's wine glass was perched between his fingers in a precarious sort of way as he admired his old handiwork. Crowley was completely confident that none of the things he had crafted in the dark void of space measured up in any way to what he and Aziraphale had created here in their little cottage by the sea.

  
"Thank you," Aziraphale said softly. Crowley turned his attention to the angel and saw he was being looked at with incredible fondness.

  
"For what?" Crowley asked. Aziraphale didn't answer right away, he seemed to be considering his words.

  
"For loving me," he said simply. Crowley couldn't stop the easy smile blooming on his face even if he wanted to. He used to be worried that his corporation wouldn't be able to cope with being full up to brim with all this love and happiness. He was pleased to find that he not only coped, he thrived with it.

  
"Oh, well, it's an enormous burden so you're welcome," Crowley said and Aziraphale laughed. "Full disclosure, angel, there's no need to thank me. Loving you is the best thing I've ever done."

  
"Better than creating reality television?" Aziraphale asked and it was Crowley's turn to laugh.

  
"Yes, better than any blessing or temptation or coin glued to the ground," he confirmed. Aziraphale beamed at him and scooted closer to rest his head on the demon's shoulder.

  
"Six thousand years and the best thing _I've_ ever done is love you. What a coincidence," Aziraphale told him. Crowley placed a soft kiss in Aziraphale's curls.

  
"Some might even call it ineffable."

* * *

_Let's face all our fears_   
_Come out of the shade_   
_Let's burn all the money, absolve all the lies_   
_And wake up unscathed_   
_The big picture's gone_   
_Replaced with visions of you_   
_Now life can begin, I've cleansed all my sins_   
_I'm about to break through_

Something Human - Muse  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for sticking with this fic! i know it's little but this is my first multi chapter fic and i've had a ton of fun writing it.   
the title of this chapter is from living in lightning by city & colour

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my very first good omens fic! i actually had a lot of fun writing these two. this is gonna be a 3 chapter fic and i have a rough outline for the other two chapters so hopefully that means i'll be able to get them out in a timely manner. come yell at me on tumblr about these two at ivory-line! fic title is the title of a song by city and colour


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